<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Watershed by BlueOatmeal</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23747533">Watershed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOatmeal/pseuds/BlueOatmeal'>BlueOatmeal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hunters &amp; Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Jamack was having some trouble hopping out of the observatory, Killing for Sport, Missing Scene, and that detail paired with a tumblr post spurred this fic, mentioned Newton Wolves and Kipo gang, mentioned animal death, occurs during The Astronomers in Turtlenecks, which is unusual for him to say the least</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:48:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23747533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOatmeal/pseuds/BlueOatmeal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kipo frees him from the Newton Wolves, Jamack grapples with confusion and exhaustion as he puts some distance between himself and the observatory.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Watershed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Little <em>twerp</em>.”</p><p>Jamack strode onwards, determined to keep a steady pace as if he could force his limp to go away if he tried hard enough.</p><p>It wasn’t working.</p><p>It was just as well he’d gotten dust, dirt, and grass stains on his way down the cliff; the wolves would have a harder time tracking him with his scent masked. Even if constantly reminding himself not to brush it all off was beginning to drive him mad. What he really needed, however, was a stream. Both because he could wash all the scents away, and because he was thirsty.</p><p>Jamack glanced back at the observatory. Still no sign that they’d noticed he was gone. Or that the burrow girl and her ‘pack’ had been found out. She could have released him as part of some sick game of theirs, of course, but she wasn’t ruthless enough to have thought of such a thing on her own.</p><p>He clenched his fists and scowled. “They don’t even know what they <em>have.</em> If they <em>do</em> win Scarlemagne’s favor with them, it’ll be pure luck. They didn’t even catch them; they probably waltzed right into their laps.” He gave a harsh laugh. “And they call themselves <em>predators.”</em></p><p>He pushed aside the memory of a breathless, drawn-out chase, maws full of sharp teeth snapping at his heels.</p><p>After one last look back, he took a turn into the denser trees where he couldn’t be spotted from afar.</p><p>“But, if they don’t know what she is, and they <em>don’t</em>… give…” He frowned as he stepped carefully, so as to leave the least amount of footprints possible. “And <em>I’m</em> gone, and there’s no way they’ll actually respect them as a pack…”</p><p>He stopped.</p><p>“They wouldn’t…?” He hesitated, then grit his teeth. “They would. <em>Idiots.” </em>He shook his head. “If those flea-bitten dolts kill the burrow girl, I might just have to take fashion pointers from the short one. And I don’t even <em>like</em> furs.”</p><p>He’d turned halfway around before he caught himself and trudged forward again, deeper into the forest, working gradually up to his previous pace.</p><p>“Well. Then nobody would have her. That’s better than anyone else capturing her, right? I found her first, so it should be me; and if it can’t be me, it may as well be nobody. Right?”</p><p>A howl echoed through the quiet and sent Jamack stumbling over a rock. He stepped quickly behind a tree and looked back the way he came, eyes wide.</p><p>More howls followed in chorus. They’d begun their hunt.</p><p>He wasn’t <em>nearly</em> far enough yet. But they’d be on the ground now, not watching from above, so—</p><p>Jamack broke into a sprint. It hurt, but not nearly as much as jumping out of the observatory had. The wolves were smart enough to rough him up in just the right way to deter him from using one of his strongest advantages. He’d already decided to deal with whatever it was they’d sprained later, when he was well out of range. He was pretty sure nothing was broken, at least. Not completely.</p><p>If there was any sign of them actually getting close though, no injury was going to keep him from using every trick he had to keep himself off the menu. He’d been captured once, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again.</p><p>Fortunately, it sounded like the howls were becoming more and more distant. Which would mean they’d found something else to hunt. And with even the moonlight stifled by clouds, they really didn’t stand a chance, did they?</p><p>He grumbled a curse.</p><p>Nevermind. It didn’t matter. So what if he lost his best chance at—at—</p><p>He had to weave through a particularly rough stretch, thick with gnarled roots, and winced at the branches that clawed at him.</p><p>His best chance at what!? Rejoining the Mod Frogs? What good would that do? He couldn’t trust them anymore. Besides, even finding the burrow wouldn’t erase the blunder that cost him his position. No; if he wanted to get ahead, he’d have to deal with Scarlemagne directly. …Somehow.</p><p>He dropped to a jog and listened closely, careful to keep his breathing quiet. His heart refused to cooperate, thudding rapidly in his eardrums.</p><p>Muffled shouts. Howls, growls, snarls. Sounded more like a fight now than simple pursuit. It would likely be over soon. Pity.</p><p>But <em>why</em> did she let him go?</p><p>She could have been rid of him by simply walking away. One less enemy. It’s what he would have done.</p><p>And she was naïve, yes, but not stupid. She knew this wouldn’t change anything. He didn’t <em>owe</em> her anything. Maybe she just felt guilty for getting him kicked out of his home? She’d be the kind of person to care about that sort of thing.</p><p>But it still didn’t make sense! Even if she’s just soft, she shouldn’t have <em>released</em> her <em>enemy. Why would you do that!?</em></p><p>Jamack paused. The noise had stopped. There was nothing.</p><p>He sighed. It didn’t matter. He’d have to do something else. He’d pay attention, of course, just to make sure they hadn’t given her to Scarlemagne. She could have pulled the ‘burrow girl’ card to save herself.</p><p>But it didn’t sound like that’s what had happened.</p><p>He returned to his trek. He wouldn’t be happy until he was miles away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He’d cleared the forest and was picking his way through the city when a crash that shook the ground had him ducking into the nearest doorway.</p><p>A number of clangs and snaps followed. Jamack peeked out and his jaw dropped. A cloud of dust and alarmed birds rose from the forest behind the observatory—which was missing its telescope.</p><p>“She’s alive,” he hissed to himself.</p><p>The Newton Wolves were going to be furious.</p><p>He shook his head and climbed over some rubble to reach the road.</p><p>Eventually, he found an old fire station that looked stable. The medical cabinets had been emptied long ago, but he was able to find a used first aid kit hidden under one of the bunks.</p><p>His right knee was badly bruised. Two of the wolves had twisted it when they first caught him. Not the best disabling move they could have gone for; they could have snapped his femur doing that, and then what kind of hunt would he make? Not a very challenging one.</p><p>Another one had slashed his quads for good measure. That <em>was</em> a smart move, and effectively took the power out of his hops. He could tolerate the gashes in the front of his thighs while running, but jumping just made it feel like he was peeling his muscles off.</p><p>He treated his wounds—it wouldn’t do to let infection set in; who knew how often the wolves washed their hands? Probably not enough—and set up a simple intruder alarm out of trash that would make noise if disturbed.</p><p>Jamack wandered through the station, keeping a hand on the wall for support. He scowled at the empty refrigerator and started looking through the storage room. There had to be some sealed water somewhere. His skin felt funny and his tongue tasted gross. He needed a drink.</p><p>He pulled a hydraulic cutter off the shelf and hummed appreciatively at its condition. He took it over to one of the red and orange fire trucks and started tearing into the back of the vehicle. He tossed stacks of heavy hoses behind him and pulled off the textured metal panels. Those he placed down slowly.</p><p>Soon he’d uncovered a large tank with pipes coming off of it and a circular seal on top. Jamack unscrewed and unlatched the seal, then hoisted himself up on top of the tank for a better look.</p><p>He took a breath with his mouth open. It smelled like clean water. He rapped his knuckles against the thick metal. The tank sounded about half full. He went to work with the hydraulic cutters, opening up the top of the tank.</p><p>With a larger hole, he could see that the interior walls of the tank hadn’t rusted yet. Good. He scooped up some water in his hand and inspected it. No visible particles. The viscosity was correct, and it didn’t leave any odd residue. You could never be too careful. Some folks had a nasty sense of humor, swapping food for toxic cleaning products and leaving them out in the wrong box for some poor sap to snatch up …or other similar tricks.</p><p>Jamack flicked his tongue into the water, and finding the taste satisfactory, flipped over the edge he’d cut and landed in the tank with a muffled splash.</p><p>He sighed contentedly and submerged himself. He had just enough room to stretch out. He’d hoped for a water bottle or a bucket he could dump over his head, but this was <em>much</em> better.</p><p>After some lounging, he rested his head on his arms. He couldn’t see much through the rough hole in the tank. He’d locked the place up, but he’d really rather have a better vantage spot.</p><p>His eyelids were getting heavy. He told himself he should get out and properly secure the building. But the water felt so good, and he would have to climb up, and his legs were still sore… And nobody would think that he’d be inside the firetruck, right? In the cab, maybe, but even with the cutters lying right next to…</p><p>No.</p><p>Jamack stuck his tongue up through the hole and pulled the hydraulic cutters down into the tank with him. He wasn’t going to leave a weapon like that right outside of his hiding place.</p><p>He should stash the metal panels somewhere and get a tarp to cover the tank, if he really wanted to stay. This wasn’t a good place to rest. He’d practically set himself up for an ancient and deadly human metaphor. How did it go again?</p><p>A frog set in a boiling pot will, of course, hop out as quickly as it can. But if set in tepid water, and very slowly warmed, the frog will grow lethargic and comfortable, until eventually it is so blind to the danger that it allows itself to be boiled to death with a smile on its face. Yes, that was it.</p><p>Jamack shuddered. Frogs don’t, and never did, actually act like that; even their distant ancestors were smart enough to detect the change in temperature and escape before it got too hot. But it still conjured a vivid image that made even the most stoic frogs cringe.</p><p>Yes; he was a frog, in water, in a metal tank, in a fire station. But it was just a metaphor. Just a story for young frogs to tell their cohorts in the height of summer.</p><p>He sighed and rubbed his face. He needed to stop thinking so much. He’d had too much time to think today. He should get some rest, let his wounds heal. The burrow girl was still on the loose, so he’d have to get back to tracking her down again as soon as he got up.</p><p>Jamack laid his head in his folded arms and closed his eyes. He spent some time replaying the past two days in his head until his breathing slowed and he finally let himself sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ohhhoho I had so much fun writing this, I was grinning ear to ear today while wrapping it all up.</p><p>Thanks to t-i-g-g-s on tumblr for lamenting the current lack of Jamack fic (which got me started) and for cheering me on while I worked on this. :)</p><p>And thanks also to jubilant-ronin's stellar Jamack drawings, which gave me great inspiration, including the most recent, that of Jamack pinned by one of the Newton Wolves, which they happened to be working on while I was writing this, and kindly posted it early so I could see it!!!!</p><p>tiggs: https://t-i-g-g-s.tumblr.com/</p><p>jubilant-ronin: https://jubilant-ronin.tumblr.com/</p><p>THAT DRAWING AAAAAHHHH: https://blueoatmeal.tumblr.com/post/615878112673234944</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24970195">Hunted</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed">run_sure_footed</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
</body>
</html>